


Sherlollidrop - Heart

by Minirose96



Series: "Heartbreak" Universe [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, F/M, Parentlock, Piecing things together, Probably should read the other parts of this story to understand what's going on, a bit of hope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-18
Updated: 2015-07-18
Packaged: 2018-04-10 00:00:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4369424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minirose96/pseuds/Minirose96
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five years. Sherlock could hardly believe so much time had passed, but as he watched the little boy climb the steps on the slide at the park, he saw just how clearly five years had passed.</p><p>The child giggled as he slid down, and his mother scooped him up and hugged him close, kissing his cheek.</p><p>A beautiful, brave woman, to have raised his son alone.</p><p>He stayed away, just as he promised to her in the morgue that he would. But he always watched. Recognized what could have been.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sherlollidrop - Heart

**Author's Note:**

> I know I said there wouldn't be a sequel... but here it is anyway. I've been in such a slump of writing, that I wasn't about to pass up the only inspiration I've had in months. I hope it's worth the wait to anyone who's still watching my writing. I don't know if this is the last in the series or not. We'll see.

Five years. Sherlock could hardly believe so much time had passed, but as he watched the little boy climb the steps on the slide at the park, he saw just how clearly five years had passed.

The child giggled as he slid down, and his mother scooped him up and hugged him close, kissing his cheek.

A beautiful, brave woman, to have raised his son alone.

He stayed away, just as he promised to her in the morgue that he would. But he always watched. Recognized what could have been.

A little boy with dark, dark brown hair that curled curiously, one errant strand in particular twisting opposite the rest against his forehead, and a pair of big, expressive brown eyes that took in the world around him, making silent note of every detail. There really was no mistaking his parentage, a fact that caused Sherlock’s heart to ache sometimes.

His eyes went to the mother, as she set the boy down and watched him run to the sand pit and begin to play on a bouncing horse on a giant spring.

Molly looked so tired, but so, so happy. Her hair was shorter now, just below her shoulders, though she still kept it pulled back out of her face in a neat ponytail. She still had a bit of the weight that motherhood gave. Sixteen pounds, which had settled in her chest and her stomach, creating the smallest of bumps despite effort upon effort to get rid of it. She was still just as lovely as the last time she’d smiled at him. Over five years ago now.

The years had worn him down as well. Grey speckled his dark brown locks; new wrinkles had formed around his eyes, and laugh lines had deepened around his lips. An injury two years previously left him with a slight limp. Not enough to stop his recklessness, but enough to slow him down a bit. No cane required, but it wasn’t in his mind. It would never go away. A tribute to his follies.

 His fingers itched, and he reached into his pocket to pull out a familiar pack. His old friend nicotine would soothe him now.

… … … … … … … … …

“Be careful on the swings, Michael!” Though she called out the warning, her son didn’t listen in the slightest. He never did when he had an idea in his mind. He leapt from the swing he occupied like a fish leaping for the sea after being washed up on shore. It was about as graceful as a fish as well.

He fell into the sand on his hands and knees. He scowled in the most peculiar way, as only little boys could, and held his hand out to his mother as she came to make sure he was all right.

A bit scraped up, but none the worse for the wear.

Molly sighed softly, and picked him up. She combed back his curls and smiled at the one that just never would stay in place. The smile quickly faded. The trait had been just as endearing in his father. She’d loved to fiddle with it, when he’d let her.

She forced a smile and crinkled her nose as she kissed his cheek. “Michael Joseph Hooper, what made you jump from the swings?” she asked.

The little boy shrugged in his mother’s arms. “I wanted to see the man.”

Molly frowned slightly. “The man?” She glanced around There weren’t any here today. In fact, they had the park to themselves.  “What man?”

Another shrug. He started wriggling a bit, wanting to be put down, but Molly held him firmly. “What man, Michael?”

He frowned slightly and gave her a pout. “You know him momma, he’s not a stranger.” He looked down. “You have pictures of him in the books.”

The books, being her photo albums. She hadn’t had the heart to throw any of them away, but they were stored under her bed, away from prying children’s hands. Or so she thought.

Her shoulders relaxed, though only minutely. She knew who it was, at least. Knew him all too well, even if her son didn’t.

She hadn’t seen much of Sherlock Holmes since the day he came into the morgue… in fact, it was almost.. eerie, how little she saw of him. No newspapers or articles like there used to be, no texts or calls, no… anything. She’d expected something, especially when he’d found out she was pregnant. She never did understand why he didn’t at least try to meet his own son. Sure, she’d been angry with him at the time, but that anger had abated… somewhat. The anger for herself had faded long ago, replaced by the anger of a mother whose son didn’t know his father. A son who, just last week, had asked out of the blue where his father way.

Now she knew why.

She kissed his cheek again softly. “You know what sounds like a wonderful idea, Michael?” she asked.

“What, Momma?” he asked, raising his gaze.

“I think it’s time you meet someone. Not right this instance, but soon.” She sighed again. “Very, very soon.”

… … … … … … … … … … …

Two minutes ago, a knock had sounded on his door. Sherlock had thought nothing of it as he rose from his seat on the couch and approached. He didn’t look in the peephole to see who it was, or pause to give thought as to who it might be, because he never did. It never mattered who was on the other side.

Until it did.

Molly Hooper stared back at Sherlock Holmes, and calmly waited as he, for lack of a better word, rebooted himself.

It took ten minutes before he wordlessly stepped aside to let her in. The door clicked quietly shut behind her, and she took a moment to absorb the still-familiar flat of 221B Baker’s Street.

It was amazing, how little things had changed. Billy the skull still sat on the mantle. The wallpaper was the same. Newspapers were pinned to various chunks of wall or scattered in semi-congruent piles. She could see an experiment of some kind on the kitchen table, and a laptop and an old coffee cup sat on the living room table in front of the same couch that had always been there.

“… Molly –“

“How long?”

Sherlock frowned. “How… long?”

She swallowed slightly. “How long have you been watching Michael grow up from afar. How long did you intend to?”

Hands burrowed into his pockets. Even after years Molly could still read him so easily. She sighed. “Why did you ever say anything? A phone call, a text, a bloody note passed from one of your homeless boys… anything at all, to let him know that you cared about him.” There was just a touch of outrage in her voice, almost entirely overpowered by a thick layer of sadness in her words.

He looked away and mumbles something incoherent.

“What?”

He repeated himself, slightly louder, “You told me to leave you both alone.”

Molly blinked. Had she? But that was no excuse for him not to try to see his son if he actually cared. No father in his right mind would ever allow someone to just strip him of any right to see his own child just because she said not to!

Except… Molly knew, to her core, that Sherlock Holmes would. If he thought it would make things better somehow. She’d witnessed it, time and again. The selflessness he had for those he cared about, the lack of concern for his own well being or happiness. If she had told him to stay away, he would have.

And he had.

She sighed, and shook her head. “That’s… horrible. Of me. Of you… He wants to know you, Sherlock.” He took a breath. “And you want to know him, don’t you?”

Sherlock blinked, his head tilting slightly to the side.

Molly waited patiently.

“I do.”

She smiled softly. She was still mad. A little. But it was a step towards the right direction. And that’s all she wanted, right now.

“Then it’s time to meet your son.”


End file.
